Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (21 page)

"Does your new purpose have anything to do the four races?"

Steffor was not surprised or upset that Kilton divulged the details
of their recent conversation. On the contrary, he was grateful. "Yes, it does. I do not believe my intentions to be malicious, simply, out of principle, I do not wish to participate in the continual growth of that modality."

"Principle? What principle pre
vents you from contributing to the growth of the Provider?"

"That's just it. I no longer believe the races contribute to our growth. If anything, I believe they will lead to our digression, and soon."

"Long I have prayed for the day you finally understood that our growth has nothing to do with what you want to believe. That complete surrender to the Provider's flow, faith that living the Certain Way in the Active Now, is all that is required of us. Do you not think your recent accident and rebirth was a message, telling you it cannot be both?"

"No, not once. If anything, my belief that we live in the Provider and, in accordance the Provider lives in us, has only grown stronger. Our interdependence is as evident as ever and for reasons I am still trying to un
derstand, our continual reliance on the four races jeopardizes the growth for all of us."

"I can find no common ground on this subject Steffor," Vejax said,
frustrated and disappointed. "For reasons of my own, I feel the flow led me to help you in a specific way but I do not share your desire to rid us of the races. Even if I did, I have no idea as to how anyone can help you in this endeavor."

Vejax's role in
future events was vital, this Steffor was certain.
Much as I have had to come to terms, he too must find faith in our new reality if he is to fulfill his mission. Vejax's journey is his own and he will not fail himself or us.

"Your counsel alone adds value
to my process but, as it has been from the beginning, this is my burden to bear. But, if you are still willing, you may be able to help me in a different way."

"If within my means, I will always help you Steffor," Vejax replied with flat baritone.

"The time for me to join the ceremony is upon us."

Vejax nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We have left our brothers and sisters waiting as long as we dare risk. Are you prepared?"

"I believe so but, as you so aptly pointed out, there are two crucial steps in my rebirth I have yet to take, steps that must occur in order for me to fulfill my part. Yet, I still hesitate."

"Indeed," Vejax replied again, the return of his confident air a welcome sight. "Since the discovery of our ability to shift the Provider's energy, no
Citizen has gone as long as you have without drinking of the Source or connecting to the whole. We both know, without the ability to do either, your involvement in the ceremony will offer little value."

"It is no longer a lack of desire as it was prior. I
f anything, I sense urgency within to break my fast from the Source. But as I stand here, ready to join the ceremony, I realize I have forgotten how to shift the Source."

Vejax, perplexed as he was by the notion, was quick to apply his pragmatic mind towar
d a solution. "I will send you the Source," he said a moment later, his brow locked in concentration as he pieced the solution together. "It has never been done but I believe it will work. I will tealk you the Source."

Named after the Teuton who first disc
overed, mastered and trained others in the niche technique, tealking was the act of sending a narrow beam of the Source over long distances. Developed in the later years of the Deagron Age, about the time man began to flourish and Deagrons diminish, tealking was a classic example of how war accelerated innovation.

Guardians, strategically placed above an advancing pod of Deagrons, would tealk what they had learned over generations of battle to be the pressure points and vulnerable joints of the creature. Co
ordinated targeting of the small but powerful beams of Source would jar loose a Deagron's grip and cause it to falter long enough for other Guardians, camouflaged and lying in wait at close range, to deliver their point blank burst of the Source. The maneuver sent many of the ancient enemy falling to a gruesome death, ideally taking out several of their kindred in the process.

"I did not realize you were familiar with antiquated technique."

"Only a handful of seasoned Teutons know how to shift the source in this manner today; the practice was kept alive more out of reverence than anything. I believe I can alter this technique in a way that will help you rediscover how to shift the Source."

"Be prepared Steffor and I will send you the Source when you are read
y." With a nod, he wrapped his long, black cloak around the length of his body, pulled hood overhead to drape his face in shadow, and purposely started his descent down the cliff side. Steffor watched his friend work his way down, his wide flowing cape masking his long stride, a dark, hovering shade traversing a treacherous path with deceptive grace and agility.

*****

As Steffor approached the quorum of Guardians, he noted a slight disturbance in their cadence before backs turned in unison to provide him passage. Steffor moved through the channel of swaying bodies wrapped tightly in black capes with hoods pulled low, impossible to distinguish one Guardian from another.

He cleared the throng, detecting Kilton, Vejax and Maseriah
—among others—within the inner most ring of Teutons, approached the pyramid of sela gourds and stood in his designated spot. He then turned to face the prominent archway shifted into the center of the Forging Tree's broad base. His attention drawn into the cavernous chamber beyond, light from the cairn swallowed by the mysterious pitch black within, Steffor performed his ritual respect: a succinct, practiced motion, touching right palm to breast, then forehead, finished with arm extended and palm facing outward.

Steffor then sat down, crossed his legs and took a moment to study the others six Guardians chosen by the guild to participate in the Forgin
g Ceremony. Bathed in the gourd's warm glow, he recognized all the faces of the other chosen, several from competing in the games or from other ritual gatherings, but only two he would call close friends. Grimlock, his imposing size impossible to disguise, sat next to the Guardian on Steffor's left. Seated directly on his right was Martna.

The face of each chosen were taut with concentration, shut eyelids quivering with activity, as the deep meditative state garnered throughout the day reached its apex. Res
olved now to go forward and participate in the ceremony, Steffor, envious of his peers and the time they had to prepare, second-guessed his decision to take so much precious time to find resolution with the recent upheaval in his life.

Do not dwell on what
could have been. Focus on the experience gained in order to change the now.

The thought helped quell his envy and realign his determination to prepare for the events about to unfold as best he could. With single-minded focus, Steffor reflected on
his prior existence, how he channeled his thoughts to manifest the goals that mattered most.

I must not allow the concerns or beliefs of others to influence my resolve. My purpose, as is the purpose of any soul, fulfills that which is larger than all of us.

The presence of that purpose was undeniable. Much in the way Toliver must have known his purpose was to become the first Guardian when faced with the "change or your species will die" conditions, Steffor innately knew the fate of all he loved relied squarely on the choices he made going forward. The
why
remained hidden, an impenetrable mist veiling his inner eye to all but the events connected to his actions.

Once again, he found divine solace within the Deeds:
The Provider reveals only that which we are prepared to comprehend
.

Steffor used the solemn chant filling the air to help further disengage his emotions. He detached himself from the hyperactive questions whirling in his head, passively observing each as they systematically drifted from his mind. Bl
ank of all thought, Steffor wielded the Forging Chant to bridge the gap between his analytical brain and orphic soul.

He existed and he observed a new vision of the Provider. The Source flowed everywhere, in everything
: tributaries of divine energy fed by the same point of origin, from stream, to river, to the shoreline of a small cove pounded by waves of raw Source. He strained to maintain the vision, seeking the ocean beyond the breakers, a vast universe that instilled the fear of unknown and the excitement of wondrous adventure.

"The Provider offers the body to one so that they may serve the whole!" Tillamund intoned. The sudden sound of the Forging Mystic's ancient voice immediately silenced the Guardian chant, inducing a jarring halt on Steffor's vision
of greatness.

"So say we all," responded the Guardians, their voices harsh in comparison to the previous hymn, only adding to the asperity Steffor experienced by his abrupt bodily return. Thankfully, his malady did not linger, for the brief but illuminati
ng state of mind had stoked a fervor, absent since his return.

Tillamund, having emerged from the mysterious cavern shifted within the Forging Tree
—his reclusive dwelling for over three centuries—now stood just outside the arched porta. He lifted his arms toward Steffor and the other six chosen, gesturing for them to stand, the movement within his unique, bark embroidered Mystic robes, alive with earthy browns and rich greens, creating the illusion of man being one with the tree.

In unison, they stood and l
ined up before him. Tillamund moved before Grimlock and with a measured gaze, the unique mystic synced his opaque eyes with the giant Guardian.

Steffor closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves with the sounds filling the valley: the tall grass rustling
in the breeze, the faint creak of the tree limbs above, the tranquil ripple of the Forging River in the distance. None of it helped diffuse his mounting anxiety.

He must open a port within each of us, connecting us to the whole, so that we may feed from t
heir abundance. He will sense, if he has not already, that the Source is no longer in me, that I cannot sync with the rest. The Source is so close I feel it all around me. Why can't I remember...

As he opened his eyes, Tillamund stood before him. Sightless
eyes probed Steffor, searching for the means to connect. A spastic twitch traveled across the Mystic's cheek and chin as his brow creased with concentration. As the other's search continued to come up short, Steffor tried to realize the gifts he once commanded. It was in that moment the jolt of Source penetrated his being.

Cognizant of Vejax's location on his left periphery, the concentrated beam of blue light, emanating from beneath the Teuton's hood, struck Steffor with fierce intensity. Fearful at first
as to how others around him would react, Steffor realized he was the only one able to detect it and he relaxed, accepting the gift without inhibition.

At first, the Source being tealked by Vejax was plentiful. Steffor was a starving man given a morsel and
he was grateful. And as Vejax predicted, it was enough spark to ignite the flame. The Source rejuvenated mind and body and exposed with abrupt clarity the weight he had been carrying since his rebirth.

The novelty of his reunion with the Provider's spirit
was short lived as Tillamund gripped Steffor's budding well and docked himself to Steffor's Source, securely locking their connection, before moving over to Martna to repeat the procedure.

Steffor balked at the coupling the Mystic placed on his heart, a c
ap on his newly acquired unquenchable thirst for the Source. He needed more time to adjust to the Source pulsing through his being. The reckless abandon in which he sucked wave after wave of the Provider's energy was unsettling.

The Provider's Source is li
mitless.

Still a bit frantic, the thought shook his concerns aside and elevated his spirits, cleansing him of the remnant melancholy of days past. The resurgence of energy instilled hope, courage of old, and the vivid recollection of all that was good in t
he world.

Overwhelmed by the compulsive need for the Provider's grace, Steffor prayed.
Forgive me. I do not know why I have forsaken you for so long.

A familiar voice from within answered his prayer.
You have not forsaken me, nor have I ever left you.

The
reunion healed and caressed. The same voice, edged with urgency now, filled his mind and said:
If the first step in your purpose is to succeed, your insatiable hunger for my spirit must be contained. Trust that I will always be here for you, no matter what the physical dimension may tell you otherwise. The life you have known will never return, prepare your mind and soul to enter the next dimension.

Tillamund, having connected to the last of the chosen, returned beneath the archway and continued with his li
tany. "Confronted by a foe set on destroying your body and all its creation, you gave us our protectors, the Guardians. Through your Spirit, we survived and persevered and in doing so, you bestowed upon us The Forging Tree: your living embodiment and producer of our champions, the Teuton Guardian."